I didn't wait anymore.
The silence outside felt wrong—too still, too heavy.
I pushed the carriage door open and stepped down, my shoes sinking slightly into the uneven ground.
The night had deepened, shadows stretching across the road, swallowing shapes before I could make sense of them.
"Draven?" I called again, my voice tighter this time.
No answer.
My chest tightened as I took a few careful steps forward, my eyes straining against the darkness.
"Draven—"
A hand suddenly wrapped around my waist.
Firm. Unyielding.
Another clamped over my mouth before I could scream.
My body jerked in shock as I was pulled back against something solid—hard, unmovable.
I struggled instinctively, my hands pushing against the arm holding me, a muffled sound escaping my throat.
"Mm—!"
"Shhh."
The voice came low, right against my ear.
Familiar.
My movements faltered.
"Angel Sera…Phina."
My breath caught.
That name—
No one else used it.
The scent reached me next.
Faint.
Steel. Leather. Something sharp beneath it.
Draven.
My body stilled almost immediately, the tension draining out of my limbs.
He felt it.
The moment I stopped resisting.
The hand over my mouth loosened slightly, then slipped away, though his hold around my waist remained firm.
"Stay quiet," he murmured.
I nodded faintly.
He shifted, guiding me forward with him. Only then did I notice the weight in his other hand—
A dagger.
Darkened.
Wet.
My breath hitched, but I didn't speak.
We moved quickly.
Not toward the road—
But toward the gate ahead.
I hadn't even noticed it before.
Torches burned along the walls, casting flickering light over armored guards standing watch.
Their attention snapped toward us the moment we approached.
Draven didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
"The lady is wounded," he said, his voice
altered slightly beneath the mask now covering the lower half of his face.
I froze for half a second.
Mask?
My eyes lifted to him properly for the first time.
It was subtle—but enough.
He looked… different.
Unfamiliar.
Untraceable.
I understood immediately.
Without a word, I let my body lean just slightly into him, my steps faltering just enough to sell it.
The guards reacted instantly.
"No questions?"
"Open the gate—now."
The heavy doors shifted open with urgency.
No one stopped us.
No one asked who he was.
They were too focused on me.
Exactly as he intended.
We were ushered through quickly, hands reaching out to steady me, voices overlapping in concern.
I kept my head lowered.
Played the part.
And only when we crossed fully inside—
When the noise shifted behind us—
Did his grip tighten just slightly at my side.
A pause.
Then—
A quiet breath against my ear.
"Good."
I let my weight drop just slightly as they guided me forward.
Not enough to fall—
But enough to look like I might.
A sharp breath left me as I faltered, my hand gripping one of the attendants' sleeves.
"My leg—" I whispered, letting the words catch unevenly. "I… I think it's fractured."
It worked instantly.
The attention shifted.
Hands steadied me more urgently, voices rising with concern as they led me further inside.
Someone called for a physician. Another for a chair.
Through it all—
I could feel him.
Draven.
Standing just behind.
Watching.
Saying nothing.
We were brought into a wide hall, light spilling from chandeliers above, too bright after the darkness outside.
I lowered myself carefully when they urged me to sit, keeping my movements slow, controlled—just enough discomfort to make it believable.
Then—
"Who is he?"
The voice cut through the noise.
Older. Sharper.
Authority.
I lifted my head.
An older man stood a short distance away, his gaze fixed not on me—but on Draven.
Assessing.
Suspicious.
"What is your name?" he asked. "And what business do you have with her?"
For a brief moment—
Silence settled.
I looked at Draven.
Waiting.
Watching.
Then—
"Raphael," he said.
Calm.
Unshaken.
"Raph, for short."
No hesitation.
Not even a flicker.
"I'm just a traveler," he continued evenly. "The lady crossed my path and asked for help."
A pause.
"On her escape."
Murmurs spread almost immediately.
Confused.
Curious.
Skeptical.
"Escape?" one of them repeated.
"From the Duke?"
Another voice followed, sharper this time. "You expect us to believe that the Duke—of all people—would let his wife leave so easily?"
A beat.
I didn't look at Draven—
But I felt it.
That faint shift in him.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
Pride.
They feared him.
Even without knowing he stood right in front of them.
Draven spoke again.
"The Duke wasn't present," he said simply. "He had already left on a separate matter."
That stirred them even more.
"Of course he wasn't—"
"He's hardly ever there—"
"I've heard he barely stays in the estate—"
"And the poor lady—"
"Not much of a husband, if you ask me—"
The whispers layered over each other, growing bolder by the second.
I kept my gaze lowered.
But my fingers tightened faintly against the fabric of my dress.
They didn't know.
They didn't understand.
And yet—
They spoke so easily.
Draven didn't interrupt immediately.
He let them talk.
Just long enough.
Then—
"That's enough."
His voice wasn't raised.
But it cut through everything.
Clean.
Immediate.
The room quieted.
"I didn't bring her here to answer questions," he added, tone still even. "I was paid to make sure she arrived safely."
A small pause.
His gaze shifted slightly—toward me.
Measured.
"And to ensure she's treated."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
No defense.
No denial.
Just purpose.
And somehow—
That ended it.
They didn't argue further.
Not after that tone.
Two attendants moved to either side of me, carefully lifting me to my feet as I let my weight lean unevenly between them.
"This way, Your Grace," one of them murmured.
I didn't correct her.
I didn't speak at all.
I let them guide me down a quiet corridor, the soft glow of lanterns lining the walls, their light flickering faintly with each step.
My "injured" leg dragged just enough to keep the illusion intact.
Behind us—
I could still hear him.
Measured footsteps.
Unhurried.
Following.
The room they brought me into was large—far larger than necessary.
Richly furnished, with heavy curtains and polished floors that reflected the dim light.
They helped me sit on the edge of the bed, already moving to adjust the sheets, the pillows—
Efficient.
Careful.
Then—
"I stay."
Draven's voice.
Flat.
Immediate.
The attendants paused.
Slowly, they turned.
"You?" one of them said, startled. "Stay… here?"
Another frowned. "That's not appropriate."
"He's a stranger,"
the older man added from the doorway, suspicion returning to his tone. "You expect us to allow that?"
A brief silence.
Then Draven's reply came—calm. Certain.
"If I wanted to harm her," he said, "I would have done so already."
The words landed clean.
Unembellished.
True in a way none of them could argue with.
Still—
Hesitation lingered.
I exhaled softly, lifting my gaze just enough.
"My escort…" I said quietly, my voice weaker now, more fragile than before. "He may stay."
The words felt strange leaving my mouth.
Escort.
I didn't look at Draven—
But I felt it.
That slight shift in him.
Subtle.
Tight.
His jaw.
From my lord—
To my escort.
A downgrade.
Deliberate.
Necessary.
And he understood that.
Even if he didn't like it.
"Please," I added softly.
That was enough.
Reluctantly, the attendants resumed their work.
"Fine," one of them muttered. "But we'll prepare a separate space."
They moved quickly after that.
The bed was straightened, sheets smoothed with precision, pillows adjusted until everything looked untouched and perfect.
Then another, smaller bed was brought in.
Placed at the far end of the room.
A distance.
Clear.
Intentional.
A thin silk curtain was drawn between the two spaces, its fabric soft but deliberate—creating a boundary without fully dividing the room.
Not privacy.
Just separation.
I watched it all quietly.
Said nothing.
When they were done, one of them turned back to me.
"The physician will be sent shortly," she said.
I inclined my head faintly.
"Thank you."
They left soon after.
The door closing behind them with a soft, final click.
Silence settled.
Heavy.
Uninterrupted.
And for the first time since we entered—
We were alone.
****
The room had fallen into a quiet that felt too large for it.
I sat at the edge of the bed, my fingers loosely clasped together, my gaze drifting toward him.
Draven—
No.
Raphael.
Even in disguise, even without the weight of his title, he didn't blend into anything. He never would.
He stood near the table, sleeves slightly rolled, a map spread open beneath his hands.
The dim candlelight flickered across his face, sharpening the angles, casting shadows that made him look less like a man traveling—and more like something planning.
Careful. Calculating.
Dangerous.
A quiet guilt pressed against my chest.
"…Dra—" I caught myself, lips pressing together before correcting softly, "Raphael."
His eyes didn't lift, but I saw the slight pause in his hand.
Good. He heard it.
For a second, I almost smiled.
Almost.
"What's the plan?" I asked instead, my voice quieter now. "You shouldn't… get into trouble because of me."
This time, he did look up.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Measured.
Then—
"I won't," he said simply.
Like it wasn't even worth considering.
His attention returned to the map.
And that was it.
No reassurance. No elaboration.
Just certainty.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly against the bedpost, watching him.
He didn't stop.
Lines. Marks. Routes.
His fingers moved with precision, tracing paths, adjusting points, sketching something only he fully understood.
Time passed without announcement, the candle burning lower, the silence stretching—but never uncomfortable.
Just… focused.
And I realized something.
This—
This was him.
Not the Duke.
Not the title.
Not the cold figure sitting at the head of a long table.
This was the man beneath it.
Sharp. Intent. Unrelenting.
My fingers tightened slightly in my lap.
I won't mess this up.
The thought settled quietly.
Firm.
Whatever he was doing—whatever this mission truly was—I would not be the one to ruin it.
Not after everything he had already risked.
Not after the trust he had given me.
Time slipped further.
The room dimmed.
And at some point—
His hand stopped moving.
I didn't notice immediately.
Only when the silence shifted.
I straightened slightly, my gaze lifting.
He hadn't moved from the desk.
But—
He wasn't drawing anymore.
My breath caught.
"…Raphael?"
No response.
I stood slowly, careful not to make noise, my steps soft against the floor as I moved closer.
He was still sitting upright.
Head slightly lowered.
Eyes closed.
For a moment, I just stared.
He… fell asleep?
Like that?
At the desk?
A quiet, surprised breath slipped from me.
What was I supposed to do now?
Leave him?
No.
That didn't feel right.
But I couldn't move him either.
I hesitated, glancing around before reaching for the folded blanket at the edge of the bed.
My fingers tightened around the fabric.
Just… cover him. That's all.
Simple.
Quiet.
Safe.
I stepped closer again, slower this time, my heart beating just a little faster for no reason I could properly explain.
What if he woke up?
What if—
No.
It didn't matter.
I lifted the blanket carefully, leaning forward just enough to drape it over his shoulders.
Slow.
Gentle.
Deliberate.
I tucked it lightly around him, my fingers brushing the edge of the fabric near his arm, making sure it wouldn't slip.
"…"
Silence.
He didn't move.
A small breath left me, relief settling in.
Good.
I straightened slightly—
And looked up.
Straight into his eyes.
My breath caught.
"—!"
He was already looking at me.
Calm.
Awake.
Watching.
I froze.
For a second, I couldn't even think.
Then—
"Dra—" I stopped myself again, heat rushing to my face. "Raphael… you're awake?"